The Music of the Night
by Hattie123
Summary: Slash. Night has fallen in Rivendell, and the evocative beauty and alluring company lend themselves very well to seduction.No real plot, but sweet I think. Lyrics 'The Music of the Night' from 'The Phantom of the Opera', C Hart Andrew Lloyd Webber :)


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Night time sharpens,

Heightens each sensation…

Darkness wakes

And stirs imagination.

The velvety darkness wrapped itself about the lean form of the elf as he descended the marble staircase outside the great hall, his footfalls as silent as leaves landing on snow. He reached a narrow balcony edged with an ornately sculpted wooden rail, around which wound a creeper of sorts. A trace of a smile passed across his fair, pale features as he trailed a seemingly careless had along the rail. Here, with no other around, it was peaceful, if not quiet. He could just hear the thunder of the nearby waterfall in his ears, and in the dark his eyes could just about make out the plumes of spray which perpetually danced at its foot. The rustle of small creatures in the surrounding forests reached his ears also. He closed his eyes and leaned on the balcony edge, savouring the comparative, wholly natural peace of this place. Rivendell…long had he desired to look upon the home of the high elves, and it had lived up to his every expectation. His mind began to wander, drifting over the sensations caused by his exquisitely tuned senses, made even more so by the dark. A breeze as soft as gossamer silk caressed his neck and lifted the fine, pale strands of his golden hair. He began abstractly to imagine the voices, footfalls, laughter and love of all those who had stood here, in this place before he had…

Silently the senses 

Abandon their defences…

His guard had become lowered, his stance relaxed as he stood there, and it was because of this that he was altogether unprepared for the 'It's a beautiful night' which came from somewhere behind him. He jumped around, startled, and saw the languid frame of Aragorn leaning against the staircase handrail. He relaxed, mentally chastising himself for his slip in concentration. 

'Ay. They always are in this place…' his voice trailed off as Aragorn moved to stand beside him, leaning as Legolas had against the rail, eyes closed, breathing deeply the heady feel of Rivendell at night. Legolas regarded him warily for a moment before once more taking his place beside the man. Aragorn opened his eyes, regarded quietly the profile of the elf. His eyes were huge in the moonlight, and violet in colour, whereas his hair in contrast was silvery and pale. Flawless skin glowed gently, marred only by the long shadow cast across his cheek by his eyelashes. Aragorn either did not see or did not comment upon the pale rose blush which had spread across the high cheekbones of the elf, but Legolas was painfully aware both of that, and the inexplicable nervous fluttering in his stomach. Sideways glances at the man told him all he wished to see and know - a kingly face with blue-grey eyes that could chastise, becalm…caress. Long, curly dark hair and the shadow of a beard which would have blemished any elf, but which looked breathtaking on the man. On the rail were his hands, calloused from his sword and months of hard living and harder riding, and yet still beautiful, long fingers ending in well shaped nails. Legolas felt his stomach swoop as he watched one of Aragorn's hands lightly brush the other, trailing lightly onto his wrist…he wrenched his thoughts away, forcing himself to concentrate on the countless leaves that fell from the trees about them like snowflakes. Aragorn spoke.

'Is what the tales tell true - that to your people, gender is irrelevant to lus…love?'

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Helpless to resist the notes I write

For I compose the music of the night.

Legolas felt his face first drain of colour and then flush pink. He had not missed Aragorn's change in choice of word, and he was not sure if Aragorn had wanted him to. He felt his fingers tremble, and he licked his lips nervously.

'Not irrelevant…less important than 'tis to men.' He hoped his voice was not as croaky as it sounded to him.

'I see…do…_you_ have any preference, Legolas?'

Had he imagined it, or had he spoken the name 'Legolas' particularly softly…He tried to shake himself mentally, but he had lost control of his body it seemed, and definite butterflies were now in his stomach. 

'No.' The word was barely a whisper, but it was all Aragorn needed. A slow, wolfish grin curved his lips, though he remained languidly…evocatively sprawled against the rail. The curve of his chest was almost visible beneath the loose white shirt he wore over dark breeches. Ye gods, thought Legolas. 

'Can I kiss you?'

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Slowly, gently, 

night unfurls its splendour.

Grasp it, sense it -

Tremulous and tender

Hearing is believing

Music is deceiving

Hard as lighting 

Soft as candlelight

Dare you trust the music of the night…

Legolas needed to make no reply - Aragorn could see the answer written all over him. His pupils dilated instantly, making his eyes look huge and dark in the semi-light of the balcony, and at the same time he gripped the rail. His skin flushed darker, and his full lips opened to emit a sudden gasp. Alluring didn't do the picture justice. With one step, Aragorn closed the distance between the two, so that he stood only inches apart. Legolas was like a rabbit confronted with a wolf - unable to move, unwilling to resist. Aragorn did not kiss him immediately, running instead his fingers across the elf's lips and jawbone. They did not break eye contact as his other hand ran up the elf's suede clad torso. Legolas' breathing became almost imperceptibly faster and deeper. The effect was not lost on Aragorn, who smiled that slow, self-satisfied smile once more, and leaned down to place his lips tenderly against the elf's. twice, three times he kissed him softly, before taking Legolas' bottom lip in his teeth and tearing at it softly. Legolas opened his mouth a little, offering Aragorn all the invitation he needed. In one swift movement he dropped the lip and slipped his tongue into the warm velvet of Legolas' mouth. His tongue softly caressed that of the elf, slipping over and under, even as he pressed his chest closer and wrapped his arms about the pale, lean figure. Lips caressed lips, all at once rough and tender, furiously needy and suggesting all the time in the world for such activities. 

Legolas was rendered utterly incapable of coherent thought. The taste of Aragorn's mouth, sweet and salty and indefinably masculine all at once, the clean, unfamiliar and wildly exciting scent of him, the feel of the strong and tender hands roaming across his back, stubble on his unfamiliar cheek…the senses threatened to engulf him, making him unaware even of the low moan that rose from deep inside him. Aragorn's tongue plunged in and out of his mouth, sending the elf suggestions of something infinitely more erotic. Wrapping his hands behind Aragorn's head, fingers tangling in the dark hair, he abandoned himself utterly to desire. 

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Close your eyes 

for your eyes will only tell the truth

And the truth

Isn't what you want to see.

In the dark it is easy to pretend

That the truth is what it ought to be.

Arwen…the thought drifted randomly across Legolas' mind, but he banished it. He did not want to think of her, did not want to acknowledge the truth. If Aragorn's lifetime was to be spent with her, then one of his nights was to be spent with Legolas, here in Rivendell. Here, captured inescapably in the electrifying presence of the man he was able to pretend that things were not the way they were. 

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Softly, deftly,

Music shall caress you…

Hear it, feel it, secretly possess you…

Floating, falling

Sweet intoxication!

Touch me, trust me, 

Savour each sensation…

The kiss was drawing to a close. Legolas tried even as Aragorn's caresses became less frantic, to commit every detail to memory. Gradually awareness of the outside world came back to him, and as they pulled apart he found himself shaky kneed and gasping for the air the kiss had deprived him of. Unable to meet Aragorn's eyes, afraid of what might be in them, he laid his head on the mans shoulder, allowing his hair to fall like a curtain. Aragorn lowered his head so that his mouth was inches from Legolas' ear. 

'Come to my chamber…there are hours of the night left yet.'

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Let the dream

Begin

let your darker side 

Give in

To the power of the music that I write - 

The power of the music of the night…

You alone 

Can make my song take flight - 

Help me make the music of the night…


End file.
